


that one where dean gets an idea

by rei_c



Series: The Genderfluid(ity) 'Verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Gender Related, I'm Bad At Tagging, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Jewelry, Kissing, M/M, Post-Episode: s01e02, Sibling Incest, Walmart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5979949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam clears his throat, says, quietly, hesitantly, "Is it -- is it too soon?"</p><p>Dean snorts. "Honestly, I wasn't sure if you'd ever --"</p><p>"Always," Sam says, low and fierce.</p><p>(aka, this is how it starts)</p>
            </blockquote>





	that one where dean gets an idea

Dean is not at all prepared for the kiss, especially in front of others, but when Sam curves his hands to the slope of Dean's cheeks, pulls Dean close, kisses Dean like it's that spine-shattering first time and that bittersweet-salt last time all rolled into one, Dean can't do anything but kiss back. Sam groans into Dean's mouth, Dean tangles a hand in Sam's hair, and they don't let go of each other until Haley clears her throat. 

"We should -- we should prob'ly get back," she says, pointedly does not look at them as she speaks.

"Yeah," Dean says, and he lets go of Sam's hair, takes a step back -- or tries, at least. His ring gets caught in Sam's uncombed mop of hair, knocks Dean a little off-balance and rips a hiss from Sam. "Oh, uh," Dean says, can't help grinning as Sam rolls his eyes and reaches up, clears Dean's ring of hair in no time at all. "Been awhile since that happened." 

He says it low, too quiet for the others to hear, but Sam shrinks backwards, putting space between them. Dean wants to follow, wants to press Sam against this fucking tunnel wall and make up for all the years lost to them, every single night he didn't get to have Sam in his bed and every single day Sam wasn't by his side, but Sam turns and Dean's eyes follow, rest on Haley, holding her brothers tight, and sighs. 

"All right, kids," he says, pitching his voice loud. "Let's blow this joint." 

//

They don't talk about it during the hike back, don't say much of anything at all, and Dean would worry except the electric awareness of Sam he always used to have is back, returned somewhere in that mine. He could close his eyes and Sam could hide, but Dean would still know exactly where to find his brother -- relief and reassurance both. Dean's eyes are open right now, though, and free to feast on the figure of Sam in front of him, pay more attention to Sam's ass and the sway of Sam's hips, even hiking, than than the ground until Tommy finally says, "Could you just not, _please_." 

Considering Dean's supposed to be helping Ben carry his older brother, it's not an unreasonable request. 

Dean apologises but can't help it, eyes flicking to Sam every so often, more out of wonder that Sam's back than trepidation at the chick-flick talk they're no doubt going to have later, still too stunned at the evidence that Sam might want him, might want to gather up the shipwreck of Dean's insides and start the arduous task of rebuilding him. 

Once they're safely out of the woods, and after the EMTs come and take control, the two of them lean against the Impala's trunk, watch the Collins siblings getting patched up. Dean's the one who breaks the silence, who says, "So," before pausing. 

Sam's expression closes off instantly but his thumb's rubbing at the seam of his jeans, back and forth, the action captivating Dean's attention the way that particular nervous tell always does. Dean pays more attention to the tell than the near-glare, always has, because while Sam's too good at forging any emotion he wants, he's never been able to control the subconscious movement of his hands. 

"Quite the kiss," Dean says. "Have to admit, I wasn't expecting that." 

"Uh, yeah," Sam says, digs the toe of his boot into the ground, looking at that instead of Dean. He's obviously given up the pretense, isn't bothering to hide anything; Dean can see the tell-tale flush spreading up Sam's neck, blooming on the apples of his cheeks. Sam clears his throat, says, quietly, hesitantly, "Is it -- is it too soon?"

Dean snorts. "Honestly, I wasn't sure if you'd ever --"

"Always," Sam says, low and fierce. He stops, catches his breath, and he's calmer when he goes on, a little reluctant, flaying himself open so Dean can lay eyes on the ruins of his heart. "You were right, you know," Sam says. "I was never in love with Jess. I loved her, but I never -- she's -- she was -- a lot like you. You'd be surprised; I know I was. Sang along to classic rock, loved to get old, worn-in tees from Goodwill, ate red meat like it was going out of style." He laughs, a little tiny noise that's half pain, half bitter regret. "She even has -- _had_ \-- the same birthday as you."

Dean's a little side-swiped by that. He knew, instantly, that Sam wasn't in love with her but from what Sam's saying, from how it sounds, Sam's definition of a normal life was apparently shacking up with Dean's female twin -- getting _married_ to her -- and damn if that doesn't crack Dean apart and make his dick twitch at the same time. Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "Should it have been me in a skirt and make-up?"

Sam stares at him and as Dean's starting to get worried, Sam laughs. Dean can't help but chuckle as well; Sam's laugh cuts him open and burrows in deep. Dean prays to a god he's never believes in that it stays there forever. They aren't fixed, they haven't been a united pair in years, but Dean has hope, now, that they'll get there. He wouldn't be hearing that laugh otherwise. 

"C'mon," Dean says, elbows Sam before standing up straight. "We should get outta here before the cops think about asking us any questions."

"Yeah," Sam says, holds his hands out for the keys. Dean lets Sam win the silent battle of wills without protest; every part of his body aches from that stupid wendigo and all the fucking tunnels, and they leave, putting Lost Creek in the rearview.

//

Sam disappears from the room for an hour that night. He comes back with three WalMart bags in his hands and a silver ring on his pinky.

Dean grins, can't help it, but he swallows down the smile when he sees Sam's posture: the hunched shoulders weighted down with shame, the defiant set to his jaw, the guilt written across his hands as he fiddles with the bags, unable to meet Dean's eyes.

"Bathroom's free," Dean says, mildly, turning his attention back to the TV, some _Law and Order_ rerun that has zero chance of catching his attention now that his mind's flying, thinking about what Sam might have bought, what Sam might do.

"I'm not doing this for you," Sam says, sounds defensive. "And I wasn't lying about wanting to be normal."

"Then what changed?" Dean asks. "Why not go crazy at school? It's not like Dad was around and, fuck, you were definitely in the right place for a little experimentation."

Sam flinches like Dean's just punched him. "It's not experimentation," he says. "It's just."

"Just?" Dean asks, can't help pushing. This is important: he's fucked something up, he doesn't know what or how to fix it but he has to find a way through this, there's no other option. The two of them, so close to each other that Dean could feel the magnetic presence of his brother, hairs on his arms and neck sticking up at the proximity, with Sam blushing and laughing, being pulled-apart honest with him -- Dean needs that. He had it for ten minutes tonight and he's not going to let it slip out of his hands again, slick as soap and sour besides.

Sam's eyes shoot to Dean's, meet Dean's gaze before he looks away, dumps the bags in the trash and heads for the bathroom, scooping his pyjamas up from the bed along the way. "Nothing," he says. "It's stupid. I'm stupid. Don't worry about it."

Dean's too stunned to stop Sam before Sam gets to the bathroom and slams the door shut, locks it with a click that rings of finality. There's nothing stupid about this and if Sam went to the store and bought all the shit it looks like he bought, that means something.

With the sound of the shower hiding the noise from the bathroom, Dean takes the bags out of the garbage, ties them up and puts them in his duffel without even looking at what's inside. He'll keep them for when Sam's ready and try to keep from sticking his foot in his goddamned mouth again.

//

Sam goes to bed first, body whipcord-tense under the thin covers. Dean waits; when it sounds like Sam's not going to be falling asleep anytime soon, he gets ready for bed, turns off the lights and the laptop, and then crawls into Sam's bed, not his own.

Sam stiffens even more, says, "Dean, what --"

Dean shushes him, gets an arm around Sam's middle and pulls him close. He takes a chance, nuzzles Sam's neck, kisses the baby-soft skin there, and practically holds his breath as he waits for a reaction.

"Quite a kiss," Sam says, dryly, making fun of Dean's earlier comment, but there's a loose coil of bruised hope in those mocking words. Sam relaxes, too, and sinks into Dean's hold like he's never been gone, like he never went and left Dean alone on a futile search for something neither of them will ever have without each other.

Dean lets out a breath, murmurs, "Shut up and sleep, sweetheart," and Sam snorts but follows directions soon enough.

//

In the morning, Dean comes back from the breakfast run and freezes in the doorway, sees Sam painting his toenails a putrid shade of green. Sam looks up at him and Dean just says, "They were out of granola, so I told them to load up your yoghurt with bacon," and kicks the door closed behind him, sets the food and coffee on the table. 

"Jerk," Sam says, and squints in focus as he dabs at his littlest toenail.

"Bitch," Dean says, but he's on autopilot, because he's watching Sam's tongue caught between his teeth, aches to smoothe out the furrowed lines of Sam's forehead, looks at the ring on Sam's pinky and catches his breath at the bracelet around Sam's wrist, the one he thought was still safe and hidden in his duffel. 

Sam glances at him, quick and fleeting and nervous, his shoulders stiff -- 

and that's when Dean gets the idea.


End file.
